Half awake, half still dreaming. Not sure wich world to go toward.
More often than not, my body, sensing the light, moves me to wakefulness – while my brain begs for the hope of imagination.
So long as the day presents promise, my body is usually right.
How I ended up in the building, or why I was there were unknown to me, but when they started throwing explosives into the rooms one by one, I knew I had to do something. Shell was in there. I could see her, leaning against the window, looking out over the vast city below.
Most business buildings follow the common layout of small closed in cubicles and corner offices with locked doors, but this particular office skyscraper had a wonderfully open layout. There virtually weren’t any walls in the place – it was all glass. You could see into every room, every office. And there was Shell, standing in the corner office, her satin dressing gown falling lamely from her shoulder, her long black hair cascading down her back, staring out over civilization.
Screaming at her seemed to make no difference, these walls were sound proof. I watched in horror as the explosions came closer and closer. And then she was gone. Hidden behind a veil of smoke. I was thrown backwards into the ground, the dust covered, glass covered ground. But the blast of fire didn’t come.
When the smoke and dust cleared enough for me to look up, I saw her, still standing, looking out at us, her back to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. And that’s when it happened.
Dozens of pigeons smashed through the glass, showering Shell with glittering shards. And then she was gone, stolen, ripped from the building by dozens of sharp, angry beaks. Her eyes remained blank, staring at us as the birds tore her open, and ate her from the inside out, carrying her away.